Why Am I the Witness?
by jesuisl0ser
Summary: Mark witnesses something horrible that could potentially put the lives of himself and his friends in danger. Written by me and ILikeScarves. COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey, everyone! It's Jenna, back with another fic, but with a twist. I'm co-writing this fic, "Why Am I The Witness", with the one and only Samantha (ILikeScarves). Sam is a fabulous writer and we figured we should write a fic together. We switch off chapter by chapter, starting off with me. Chapter 2 will be written by Sam. Hope you guys like! R&R and let us know what you think!**

* * *

"Hey, Rog, I'm going out to film, okay?" Mark called to his friend as he opened the sliding door in the small loft. 

From his room, Mark's roommate replied, "Yeah, whatever. Have fun."

Mark rolled his eyes. Sometimes he just couldn't understand why Roger couldn't accept things the way they were and live out his life—or at least pretend to. Then again, he mused, he wasn't the one with a deadly disease running through his veins at every second of every day. Mark didn't really know what it felt like to be reminded constantly of the fact that time was of the essence for him, because it wasn't. He sighed heavily at the thoughts and headed out the door.

* * *

A warm breeze brushed up against the pale skin of lanky, shy Mark Cohen as he filmed the streets around him with his old camera. In New York City, there was always something going on, and that made it easy for Mark to take some interesting footage, especially around this time in late afternoon. 

Panning down the sidewalk and capturing passers by along the way, he felt particularly empty, although he wasn't exactly sure why. He contemplated about the fact that his life seemed to be always at a stand-still; moving but not moving, almost like a single frame in a roll of film...

In the midst of all of this, something caught his attention when he headed down a back street.

"Don't freakin' move, or I'll bash your face in so hard you'll be flying across the city. You hear?" someone spat.

Mark swerved his camera toward the voice. Sure enough, there was a man in a huge black hoodie holding a knife in his right hand. Mark's mouth gaped open in awe as he held his camera up to the scene before him.

Another seemingly younger man was kneeling on the ground, pleading: "Please...Come on, Ray, man...You can't do this to me...Please...The whole thing was an accident...You can't..." His voice was cracking, and Mark had to do everything in his power to keep from shouting out in dismay and confusion at the two of them.

"You think I _can't_?" the hooded man raised the knife in the air. "Just watch me, you piece of shit. Just watch me."

Mark couldn't run away or call out to someone for help—he was frozen. He couldn't move. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to blood-churning, terrifying screams coming from the other side of the alleyway. He distinctly heard the thrusting sounds of the knife going in and out of the victim's chest. It made him sick.

There were more screams, more begs of mercy.

And then nothing.

Gulping, he opened one eye and then the other, realizing that he had been filming the entire scene the whole time. He gaped at his camera for a moment as if he'd never seen it before. Then, slowly adjusting his gaze to the hooded man not too far away from him, he saw it all.

The younger man lay sprawled out on the stone-cold ground, his position distorted, and from what Mark could see, his face was, too. The hooded man stood before him, breathing in and out heavily, a bloody knife in his hands.

Mark took a couple of steps backwards in utter disbelief, feeling as if he would faint. He dropped his camera from eye level so that he could see where he was going should he decide to run. But his feet wouldn't let him. His _body_ wouldn't let him.

_I need to get out of here...Come, on, Mark, move!_ But it was too late.

The couple of steps he had taken had managed to echo through the narrow alleyway.

And Mark found himself staring right into the cold-blooded eyes of the killer. Mark's eyes widened, and soon he had control of his body enough again to run. He whirled around and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, sprinting down the sidewalks that had taken him to that forbidden place in the beginning.

"Oh, God," he repeatedly muttered to himself, "Oh, God...This can't be happening..."

* * *

By the time he reached his loft again, he did a double take in every direction. It didn't seem like the man had followed him at all. Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the keys out from his pocket and made his way up the stairs in the apartment. 

Not even bothering to acknowledge Roger when he entered through the door, Mark blindly made his way to his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He put his camera down on the bedside table and flopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The reality of his situation continued to haunt him.

_I just witnessed a murder._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ah okay,I hope everybody enjoys this chapter (this is Sam aka ILikeScarves,by the way),and I feel so ****privileged **to co-write a fic with such an amazing writer like Jenna :D Please R&R!  
DISCLAIMER: We don't own, we just rent.

* * *

He didn't want to tell Roger what he had witnessed. Roger would probably freak and tell him to report it. He knew that was the right thing to do, but sometimes the right thing to do wasn't always the easiest thing to do.

The next morning, Mark awoke and found Roger sitting in their kitchen reading the Village Voice and drinking a cup of coffee.

Roger acknowledged Mark with, "Hey, did you hear about that murder a few blocks away?"

Mark was just about to sit down on their old couch, but he couldn't move. He stood there frozen, staring at Roger.

"Uh, are you okay?" Roger looked up at Mark, raising an eyebrow.

"Yea..yeah.." Mark stuttered. "What else did it say?" He asked, finding the strength to sit down. Both his legs felt like Jell-O.

"Well," Roger scanned the article. "They want witnesses to come forward if they saw or heard anything."

"Oh…"

"…and police say that anybody who did witness it shouldn't be withholding information. They are taking this seriously." Roger said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Mark just nodded and fiddled with his fingers. What the hell was he supposed to do? Risk his own life for somebody else's didn't seem to appealing, even though he _knew _he should.

Roger flipped through the paper, drumming his fingers on the counter and yawned. There was nothing worse than an early Saturday morning in Roger's mind.

Actually, not being able to write a song was worse. Much worse.

Mark looked down at their dusty floor. He needed to get help. Somebody who knew the legal system. Somebody like…

Joanne Jefferson.

Mark snapped his fingers, got up, and made his way to their door to get his coat.

"Hey, where are you -- "

Mark cut Roger off, "I'll be back later. And don't drink all that coffee."

* * *

Mark called Joanne from their payphone across from their loft and made plans to meet her at the Life Café that morning. She was finishing up a big legal case surrounding an accident in a bowling alley involving some bowling pins and an angry ex-wife.

Only in New York, Mark thought.

When Mark arrived, he saw Joanne sipping some ice tea and going over some notes in a briefcase.

"Hey Mark." She greeted him with a smile and motioned to the chair across from her.

She shuffled her papers and put them to her side, and folded her hands in front of her.

"Now what can I help you with? You seemed pretty upset over the phone."

Mark sighed and folded his hands in his lap and crossed his leg. This was going to be a long morning.

"Well…okay. Did you hear about the murder a few blocks from our loft?" Mark asked, starting to feel heat creep up into his face.

Joanne nodded. "Yes, of course. That's awful. Any murder is awful."

"Well…I…okay." Mark was starting to get flustered.

"Did anything happen to you?" Joanne asked, starting to sense something was wrong with her friend.

"Well..no..well…okay…see." Mark closed his eyes trying to calm himself down. Why did this have to be so hard?

Joanne raised an eyebrow. "Look Mark, I can't help you if you keep stuttering."

"Okay, I know." Mark took a deep breath. "IwastherewhenthemurderhappenedandIcaughteverythingonfilmandnowIdontknowwhatIshoulddobecauseIknowI--"

"Whoa, calm down Mark." Joanne put up her hands. "You were there?"

"Yes…and I don't want to come forward because I think the man who did it saw me. I can't even go out without looking over my shoulder. It scared the hell out of me to just come here." Mark was just sweating now. He could feel his whole face become red and hot.

Joanne nodded. "I totally understand, but we need to do something. If you need to go to court, I'll be glad to represent you. Have you told Roger about this?"

"No…I can't. He'll freak."

A smile crept on Joanne's lips and she nodded again. "Well…let me go over some paperwork and see what we can do. Do you still have the film?"

"Yes, it's at home. If we can get Roger out of the loft, I could show you. I don't want anybody to be there if I do."

"Alright. I'll get Maureen to invite everybody over to the Life, but I'll say we have some business to take care of. I won't tell her Mark, don't worry."

For once in the whole conversation, Mark smiled. "Thank you so much, Jo, you have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"Don't mention it. It's what any friend would do." Joanne smiled.

They both agreed on a time Joanne would come to the loft, and Mark left, hoping he wouldn't get his ass kicked while walking home.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So you know you loved Samantha's Chapter 2. She rocks. Here's Chapter 3, folks. I would like to remind everyone that this fic is set in the Rent Movieverse. You'll understand why I mention this when you read a part toward the end of the chapter that references to an event in the film, not the play. Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em comin'!

* * *

"Where the hell is Mark?" Thomas Collins took a long drag from the joint he was holding in between his fingers. 

Maureen Johnson tossed her curly brown hair from in front of her face and replied, "Joanne said she has to take care of some stuff with him. She didn't go into much detail..." She paused, then continued: "But then again, I never really pay attention when she talks about legal stuff anyway. It confuses me."

Roger rolled his eyes and swallowed a gulp of beer. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked sarcastically. "Maybe they're involved in their own secret _love affair_..." He raised an eyebrow questioningly, prompting Maureen to stick out her tongue in disgust. Mimi, who was sitting beside him, giggled and swatted his arm jokingly.

Roger pretended to be hurt. "...Ouch, Mimi. That hurt."

"Poor baby. You need a band-aid?" Mimi inquired, smirking slyly.

"Nah. Just a kiss."

Collins pretended to gag. "You guys are real corny."

"Oh, please," Roger argued, "You and Angel can barely keep your hands off each other."

Blushing a little, Collins looked to his lover for either an approval or denial. She tilted her head to the side and smiled at him, saying quietly, "Well, he _is_ right, honey."

"...Dammit."

The table erupted into a series of chuckles. But everyone couldn't help but wonder why Mark and Joanne were deciding to miss out on the fun.

* * *

Mark Cohen was biting his thumbnail impatiently, awaiting Joanne's arrival. He had his film all set up, ready for her to watch. It made him feel a little bit better to know that someone else would understand what he went through. Someone who wouldn't totally flip out on him. Mark himself was wondering if he wanted to watch what he had filmed again. He was afraid that it would be like reliving the mess all over again. 

After a few more minutes, he heard her voice outside: "Mark, ya down there?! Throw down the key!" Mark leaned over the fire escape and threw the key down to Joanne before making his way over to the sliding door, opening it for her.

Joanne stepped inside, taking off her coat. "Hey, Mark," she greeted him with a smile.

"Hi," Mark replied frantically, adjusting his glasses.

Surveying the loft, Joanne shook her head. "Looks like a tornado hit this place. What do you and Roger do around here when the rest of us aren't around?"

"Not funny," Mark muttered, picking up various objects lying on the ground and throwing them on the couch, "In case you haven't noticed, I really haven't had a lot of time to clean up these past few days."

She nodded. "Good point. You have the film ready?"

Gulping, Mark led Joanne over to where he'd set up the viewing. She stood beside him as he let the film begin. Looking away, Mark pretended that this whole thing wasn't happening and that he was at the Life Café with the rest of his friends.

Pretending wasn't good enough.

"My God..." he heard Joanne mutter, "This is...I..." It was the first time Mark was the one to leave Joanne speechless.

Mark took a quick look at where the film was at. All he had to see was the man in the hood and that instantly drew his attention away. He couldn't look anymore. Yet, now that he had, the images came back to him.

"_Don't freakin' move, or I'll bash your face in so hard you'll be flying across the city. You hear?"_

Mark gulped. _No...No, stop thinking of it, Mark...Don't.._.

"_Just watch me, you piece of shit. Just watch me._"

He once again heard the sounds of the knife against fresh skin, the sputtering of blood...the begging...

"Hey, Mark..."

Mark couldn't breathe. He couldn't think; he couldn't move. Just like when he was standing in that alleyway in the dark.

"...Mark?"

Blinking rapidly, he tried to force the images to the back of his mind. _Why the hell didn't I call the cops?! What is _wrong _with me?!_ Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Then everything went black.

* * *

"MARK!" 

He sat up abruptly at the sound of his name. Looking around, he saw that he was lying face-flat on the dusty hardwood floor of his loft, Joanne staring down at him worriedly.

"Why is it that when we're together alone you're always passing out on me? I don't bite, you know. Here." Joanne extended her hand to help Mark up off the floor.

He couldn't help but laugh a little bit. She was right. He remembered that when he first met Joanne, he'd pretty much keeled over right in front of her.

_Deja vu_, he thought. Brushing the dust off his pants and sweater, he looked Joanne in the eye. "Did you finish the film?"

Joanne looked down at the ground. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"And?" Mark bit the inside of his lower lip nervously.

"I really have to think about this before we take any steps as to what we're going to do," she answered, placing her hands on her hips and closing her eyes in defeat. "But in simpler terms..."

"Yeah?"

"You are royally screwed, Mark."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay so I know I couldn't top that last chapter, but I tried my best XD Anyway, for the record, I am not a Joanne/Mark shipper at ALL. I just wanted Collins to be for no reason whatsoever. Please R&R and enjoy!

* * *

**

That night, Mark couldn't sleep at all. He had heard Roger open the loud door to their loft, but he kept to himself. 

After Joanne had left, had taken his camera and film into his room, cleaned up after the comment was made by Joanne about how messy their place was, and had went straight to bed. 

Now he lay awake. Staring at his ceiling. He was scared. For his own life. Was that wrong? He wondered. Shouldn't he be scared for the family of the guy who was killed? 

Mark could feel a slight migraine starting to occur in his temple. He was starting to live in fear and he hated it.

* * *

The next morning Mark had gotten up extra early. He had only gotten a three hour sleep that night, and his migraine was getting worse. 

He had decided to take some Tylenol and wrap some ice cubes in a cloth to lie on his head. Mark really hated headaches, and he was thankful when he didn't get them. 

A few hours later, Roger sauntered out of his room, hair amess, guitar in hand and yawning, a typical Roger Davis on any morning. 

"Good morning." Mark sat up and placed his cloth on their table. 

"Dude…where did you come from?" Roger, obviously a little slower then usual on this morning jumped back, startled. 

Mark laughed and shook his head. "I have magical powers I never told you about." 

Roger rolled his eyes and was about to tell Mark off when their phone rang. 

_SPEEEEEEEEAK _

Tom Collins's voice filled the loft. "I'm outside, throw down the key." 

Mark passed Roger their key and Roger made his way outside to toss it down to one of their oldest friends. 

A few minutes later, Thomas Collins appeared in their doorway, a respectfully large joint placed between his lips. 

"Hey!" Smoke seemed to swirl out of his mouth as Collins greeted the two friends. 

They all exchanged hellos and Mark invited their slightly stoned guest to sit down. 

"So Mark…where were you and Joanne last night?" Collins took a drag from his joint. "You two aren't….uh…you know." He winked at Mark and smiled at Roger who just shook his head. 

Mark rolled his eyes. "No, we are not having an affair and…..I just had some personal business to take care of. That's it." 

"Personal business?" Collins joked with a laugh, and then started to choke on the smoke from his joint which erupted himself into a coughing fit. 

Roger smirked while his friend coughed, "If it's so personal, why Jo is involved?" 

Mark could feel his face getting red, and he just shrugged his shoulders. "I just needed her advice, that's all." 

When Collins had finally stopped coughing, Mark handed him a glass of water which he accepted. "Well….whatever. I'm still gonna believe you and her have a lil something going on…I wonder how Maureen would take it." Collins was off on another fit of laughter. 

Mark sighed and Roger laughed along. 

"Awww boy, I'm just playin' with you!" Collins finally stopped laughing and playfully punched his friend in the arm. 

Mark sighed again and shook his head. "Yeah well…stay out of it." Mark pouted and contemplated what to do. He didn't want to go outside, and he didn't want to stay inside with them. For no reason, all of the comments made towards him were starting to hurt, and Mark was feeling that loneliness creep up into him again. 

Collins raised his eyebrows and looked at Roger, who in turn shrugged his shoulders. They were both used to Mark's random outbursts, but this was _too _random. 

Awkward silence had entered the loft but soon was broken by the ring of their phone. Without screening, Mark picked it up. 

"Hello." 

"Mark, hi, it's Jo." Joanne seemed a bit out of breath. 

"Is something wrong?" Mark could feel his migraine coming back. 

"Well I…..just meet me at the Life, I guess. I have some stuff to tell you." 

There was a click at the end of the line and Mark stood, feeling lifeless. 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Pushing by crowds of people at the restaurant, Mark managed to find Joanne sitting at a table. She waved to him, and he scurried over to sit across from her.

"What's up? Is it bad? I had to lie like a rug to Roger and Collins just to get out of the loft..." Mark muttered hurriedly.

Joanne's eyebrows furrowed as she replied, "Calm down, Mark. This is kind of what I needed to talk to you about."

Mark gulped, taking off his scarf and laying it gently beside his bag. "What do you mean?"

"I've thought this over long and hard, Mark. At first, you had me totally speechless. This is a serious mess you've gotten yourself into. I can understand you don't want to tell anyone about it, but..."

"But _what_, Joanne? I can't tell anyone! I don't have a choice. The asshole saw me getting him stabbing a guy to death on tape!" He was talking in a hushed whisper, his eyes darting back and forth nervously.

Joanne nodded sympathetically. "I know, Mark. I know that. But maybe it would be best that you tell some kind of authority about what's going on, so you have them on your side. The cops could protect you. _I_ could protect you."

"I don't care."

"Whether you care or not is out of the question," Joanne said, beginning to feel a little frustrated, "This is for your own good, and you know that."

Mark shook his head. "I can't. He'll find out...He'll find _me_!"

"Mark, you don't—"

"Joanne, this is one thing I can't do. Okay?" Mark refused to hear anymore of what his friend had to say. He stood up and began to walk away, Joanne running after him, the sound of her Doc Martens echoing on the floor of the Life Café.

She grabbed his arm as he was walking out the door. "_Mark_!" He was forced to whirl around and let her speak. She continued, "Fine. You win. But if you're gonna keep this a secret, you have to be watching your back everywhere you go. You understand? This is serious, Mark."

"You think I don't know that?!" he spat, regretting his attitude as soon as he had allowed the words to slip out of his mouth.

Joanne grabbed onto his shoulders. "I'm trying to help you, okay? That's all. I'm looking out for you. Because I'm your _friend_."

Mark looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I'm just...y'know..."

"Scared," Joanne finished. Mark hated to admit any of his emotions that he didn't particularly want his friends to know about, but Joanne had managed to figure it out this time. He nodded slowly. "It's okay to feel that way, Mark. But, like I said...You don't want to tell anyone. It's your responsibility to make sure that you're safe wherever you go. If something seems suspicious to you, by all means act on that instinct. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Mark had never really seen Joanne do lawyer-talks. Now he knew how Maureen felt. "I...I'll be okay, Jo. Thanks."

"Good. If you need anything, call, okay?" Joanne pulled Mark into a quick hug. Mark nodded a thank-you and adjusted his glasses before beginning to walk away.

"And, Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

* * *

After his meeting with Joanne, Mark grabbed a quick bite to eat at a deli near the loft. By the time he started to head home, it was late afternoon. He had never felt so paranoid. He looked behind and all around him with every step he took.

Mark was feeling apprehensive. He tried to think about how he would be home at the loft in a couple of minutes. But what was about to happen had prevented him from going anywhere at any time soon.

Mark heard footsteps slowly walking behind him. They were loud. Afraid to turn to face whoever was there, Mark began to walk faster. The footsteps behind him picked up the pace as well.

He didn't have time to turn around. Before he knew it, someone had thrown him against a wall, and Mark heard his own skull crack against the stone. He couldn't breathe; couldn't scream or yell for help...He felt sick. Before he could defend himself from the hazy being in front of him, he felt a punch in the stomach, bringing him to his knees.

"Where's the camera, punk?" the person spat. Mark's eyes widened at the familiar voice, and he slowly looked up to see the hooded man peering down at him with piercing green eyes.

There was blood oozing through Mark's clenched teeth as he clutched his stomach in pain, refusing to answer.

_Oh, God...Did I bring the film with me?! Maybe I took it so Roger and Collins wouldn't see it...Oh, no...No...God, this hurts...Please tell me I didn't...If he finds that film...Oh, shit..._

A kick in the back brought him out of his trance. "Did you hear what I said?! Tell me where the damn camera is!"

Mark couldn't speak at this point. He watched, half conscious, as the man grabbed his bag and pulled the precious camera out. "You poor bastard. Thinkin' you could hide from me, huh?" Just for his own amusement, he kicked Mark again, causing him to fall completely to the ground. It was dark. Mark couldn't see anything, but he knew that the murderer had taken his camera.

"Give...Give it back..." Mark made an attempt to stand, only to receive a pang of extreme pain up and down his back and in his head. He groaned and fell backwards, lying defeated on the cold pavement as his attacker ran away.

* * *

Light. He saw light as he squinted. It was almost blinding, and Mark tried to lift his hand to shield his eyes but it was almost as if his mind wasn't connected to the rest of his body. So he shut his eyes again. He heard voices...

"Oh, my God...someone needs to take him to a hospital; why the hell are we just _sitting_ here?!" That voice unmistakably belonged to Maureen Johnson. He wanted to tell her that he was okay, but he couldn't speak either.

Then someone else spoke up. "He'd kill us if we did that; trust me...I know him. Let's just keep him here. Angel, do you still have that ice pack?...Yeah, keep it there on his forehead. He's got a big cut right there..." _Roger_.

"I found him just lying there...I was on my way to the Catscratch..." There were tears in Mimi's voice. Mark could hear them. "I don't think he even realized it was me! I just kept saying, 'Mark, it's Mimi!' but he didn't...respond...It took me so long to drag him here, he couldn't even walk..." Mark heard a sniff and some cries that became muffled, and then Roger whispering to her that everything was okay...

"Man...We shoulda never let him leave this morning, Rog..." It sounded like Collins, but Mark couldn't tell.

He could barely feel someone touch his arm lightly, who must have still been Collins, because then he heard Angel's voice quietly command, "Don't wake him, sweetie, let him rest..."

"Poor thing..."

"I wish I could have found him earlier..."

"...Mimi, babe, it's not your fault..."

"Dammit, I want him to wake up!"

"Calm down, Maureen, it's okay..."

The voices slowly but surely faded away as Mark's mind made its way back to nothingness.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Samantha here, please enjoy this chapter And I hope you guys catch the little 'Finale B' reference there. And yes, I switched Maureen's and Roger's parts on purpose. Please R&R!

* * *

**

All Mark could feel was pain. 

And all pain could feel was Mark. 

He tried to move, but the pain was too much for him to handle. 

He could taste blood in his mouth and it felt like his body was paralyzed, and everything just seemed to hurt. 

He could hear voices around him again. Some seemed to mutter his name, some seemed to be crying. 

_"Is he gonna wake up?" _

_"What should we do?" _

_"God, I'm hungry." _

_"Roger!" _

_"Oh, right, sorry." _

Eyes still closed, Mark could feel a few teeth loose in his mouth, which reminded Mark of the dentist. That alone could make Mark feel sick. 

_"His eyes are starting to open!" _

Mark slowly opened his eyes. He couldn't tell if his glasses were still on or not. And he could feel a large headache rising through his head again. 

_"Mark…Mark…oh my God, I think he's awake again!" _

"Maureen?" Mark mumbled, slowly sitting up. A pain shot through his back, almost too much for Mark too take. He winced and lay down again. 

"MARKY!" Maureen got up and practically ran over to a now half-conscious Mark, who was only about five steps away from her, and started to run her hands through his hair. 

"You're drenched." She observed. 

Roger put the back of his hand on Mark's head. "His fever's breaking." 

Mark could feel an ice pack on his head, almost soothing the pain. 

"Poor thing." Mark could hear Angel mutter. 

"Who did this to you, man?" Mark could smell and hear a joint being lit, and recognized Collins voice right away. 

Mark heard Joanne sigh, and after a few minutes, he finally found the strength to sit up and held the ice pack close to his head. 

"I don't know…some guy." Mark lied. At this time, that's the only excuse he could find. 

"_Some guy_ did this to you?" Roger raised an eyebrow, skeptical as always. 

"I don't know." Mark tried to shrug his shoulders, but he couldn't find the strength. 

He looked up at Joanne, who just shook her head and sighed again, putting her head in her hands. 

Angel looked at Mimi. "Did you see anybody when you found him?" 

Mark noticed Mimi a few tears ran down her face, and she slowly shook her head. "No…no…I don't think so." 

"I wish somebody would have taped it happening…maybe we could catch the bastard." Maureen muttered. 

_Camera! _

Mark was suddenly wide awake now. 

"My camera…my film…" Mark started to sputter, looking around the room at the same time. 

_Where was it? What happened? _

Slowly, almost like a film, the whole predicament that had happened to Mark started to roll through his head slowly. 

He could remember getting kicked a few times, and the man yelling at him. 

_"Where's the camera, punk?" _

_"…tell me where the damn camera is!" _

Mark tried to steady his breath, but it wasn't working. He could tell everybody was staring at him now, but he just closed his eyes and shook his head. 

This couldn't be happening. Not to him. 

"Uh, Mimi…" He could hear Joanne's voice now. "…was his camera with him when you found him?" 

Mimi closed her eyes, trying to remember. "Um, I don't think so. Wait…no. No it wasn't." 

Mark breathed in. He took it. The murderer took it. Did he take the film too? 

"Don't worry, Mark, we'll get this guy." Maureen announced, nodding her head. "When you mess with the Mo…you get…the…uh…" 

"Maureen?" 

"Yes?" 

"Shut up." 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Poor Mark, huh? Hehe. Enjoy this chapter. Review, please!**

* * *

After a while, the group of bohemians eventually dispersed (although it took much persuasion for Angel and Maureen to stop fussing over Mark worriedly), leaving Mark alone with Roger and Mimi.

Now, Roger sat the edge of the couch, while Mark fell in an out of restless naps as he lay curled up on the couch. Mimi was reading a magazine in her bedroom.

"God, you're really hurt, Mark..." Roger muttered quietly, looking down at his friend sympathetically.

Mark happened to be awake then, and he replied hoarsely, "I'm okay..." He appreciated Roger's concern, but he wasn't about to let himself lose control just yet.

"Uh-huh, sure. You've always been a shitty liar." Roger got up and walked over to their small kitchen area. "Need anything?"

"No, thanks...But could you help me stand up?"

Roger turned to face Mark, who was sitting up on the couch, squinting in the light of the room. "Are you crazy, man? You can barely lift yourself up, let alone stand on your own two feet."

Mark closed his eyes warily. "That's why I'm asking you to help me."

"Why do you need to stand?" Roger asked.

"Stop asking me questions," replied Mark flatly, "I need to see something."

Roger shrugged, gulping down a glass of water, "You can always tell me what it is and I'll get it. Duh."

Mark shook his head and rolled his eyes, even though it hurt (as did every action he performed, considering there were bruises all over his body). Roger definitely wasn't acting any differently, despite Mark's situation. Yet, he did care about his best friend, and it showed.

Mark thought for a moment and tried to remember where he had put the roll of film, assuming hopefully that it might not be in the camera that the murderer had stolen. _I don't think having Roger check for it would reveal anything_... he mused.

"Rog," he said.

Roger whipped his head around from staring aimlessly out their window. "Huh?"

Mark pointed to a box next to his equipment where he had last remembered seeing the film. "Can you look in that box and see if there's a roll of film in it?"

Nodding, Roger shuffled over to the small cardboard box and peered inside. "Yup. It's marked, 'The film'. Real original. What is it?"

_Think fast, Mark._ Mark retorted hurriedly, "Just stuff for the movie that I'm not letting you see until I'm finished." As much as he was feeling relieved that his roll of film hadn't been stolen, Mark knew he needed to notify Joanne about all of this.

Roger sighed and grabbed his guitar off the table. "I'm gonna go to bed. You okay by yourself here or do you want me to help you to your room?" he asked.

"I'll be alright, Rog."

He was just about to head into his room when Mark called out to him: "Hey, Rog?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Roger's expression softened for a moment, but he immediately covered it up by saying, "Whatever, dude. Don't get all corny on me. Just get some rest and leave me alone."

Mark couldn't help but smile just a little as Roger walked away. He hated keeping all of these secrets from his best friend. But he figured that the only way to get through this turmoil would be to do it alone.

* * *

"Joanne, he didn't take my film." It was the next morning, and Mark was on the phone with Joanne while Roger and Mimi were out.

He heard a sigh of relief on the other line. "Thank God. But he has your camera, right?"

"...Yeah..." Mark sighed. He felt a sharp pain go through his left leg, one among many ailments he was trying to withstand at the moment.

"Oh, and by the way, Maureen doesn't believe your 'some guy beat me up' story worth a shit," Joanne said bluntly, prompting Mark to wince, "And if she doesn't, I guarantee that none of your friends do. Why didn't you just tell them everything?"

Mark couldn't help but inwardly agree with Joanne. "I couldn't. I would put them in danger."

"Mark, they're already in danger. Just by being with you."

Those words scared Mark the most, and suddenly he felt like he was swimming in a pool of horrible, scary thoughts...

_What if one of them gets hurt? What if they're threatened? God, I feel sick..._

Joanne's voice interrupted his thoughts: "You still there, Mark?"

"Yeah..." he muttered, "...Joanne?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I think I'm gonna tell them. I'm gonna tell them the truth."


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

A few days had passed since Mark had his run in with the murderer, but he was still scared. Out of his mind.

He hardly left the house, pulling a 'Roger Davis' as he liked to call it, and he couldn't go near windows, thinking that the murder was_ there_, watching him. Waiting for him.

"Do you need anything?" Roger would always ask him at random moments of the day.

"I'm fine."

"You sure."

"Roger…"

"Okay, okay, sorry."

Mark felt a little guilty for being so cold to his best friend, but he couldn't help it. Mark was scared.

He contemplated about telling Roger. He wanted to; he really did. But everything was going so fast, too much for Mark to handle. He hated change.

So, finally, one night, when the bruises didn't hurt too much, he arranged with Maureen, Joanne, Angel, Collins and Mimi for himself and Roger to meet them at The Life.

"Mark you look so great!" Maureen screamed at Mark from across the street while Roger and Mark were crossing it. She was outside with a slightly annoyed Joanne, who was telling her to shut up and that she was causing a scene.

Mark had a bandage above his right eye and he couldn't really move his arm too well, so he was sure he looked less then great.

"Thanks, Mo." Mark blushed as they walked up to the couple. Maureen greeted Mark again by giving him a tight hug and a quick kiss on the cheek so Joanne wouldn't see it.

Roger rolled his eyes through all of this, and the four entered the Bohemian hangout, spotting Mimi, Collins and Angel who had picked out their usual tables at the back of the restaurant.

"Oh my God, Mark, how are you?"

"You look amazing!"

"Ya got a little dried blood on ya, Mark. You look pretty bad."

"Collins!" Angel smacked her lover upside the head and hugged Mark.

"Don't listen to him, baby, you look great."

"Thanks." Mark blushed even more and looked down as he sat in his chair. Mark hated attention.

The night passed and for once that whole entire week, Mark forgot about the whole incident.

He did notice, however, that a certain lesbian lawyer was giving him looks and glances the whole night. He couldn't look her in the eye. He promised to tell everybody, and he could if he wanted to, right then and there, but he would ruin the mood.

Finally, Mark called attention to himself.

This was it, he was gonna tell his friends the whole story.

He took a deep breath.

"Everybody, I have to tell you guys something."

The group stopped chatting and looked at Mark, who was now standing up and looking at the floor.

He quickly glanced at Joanne who was at his right. She smiled and sat up straight, nodding her head at him.

"Well, uh," Mark started, not feeling as outgoing as he seemed before, "well, I meant to tell you guys this a while ago."

He could feel his face getting even redder now, and he was starting to twitch.

"And, uh, see, like….I…." Mark was loosing his words.

"Just tell them." Joanne hissed so only Mark could hear it. Or so she thought.

"Tell us what?" Mimi asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh well…see...okay…I got a new shirt." Mark finally sputtered.

Everybody stared at him.

"And like, it was on sale…and I just wanted to say…I got it." Mark sat down silently looking at the table.

Joanne put her head in her hands in frustration.

Angel and Mimi just stared at him. Angel was tempted to ask Mark where he had gotten his shirt, but noted it in her head to ask her at a more appropriate time. Like tomorrow.

Collins and Maureen both had confused looks on their faces, but continued to drink their beer.

Roger however, knew something was up. Sure, he liked Mark's shirt, but that wasn't the point. Something was up with his friend.

* * *

The night had finished, quite awkwardly, with hardly any talking from Mark. Mark, Roger, Joanne and Maureen were the last people to leave. Mimi had left with Collins and Angel a few hours earlier. 

"Nice going Mark." Joanne whispered to Mark as she hugged him outside The Life.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't."

"Well, you better do something."

"I'll tell Roger."

"That's a start."

"Just don't tell Loud Mouth Maureen."

Joanne sighed. "I won't."

After the four said goodbye, Mark and Roger started walking back to their loft.

"A new shirt??" Roger suddenly burst out laughing.

"Shut up, okay?" Mark rubbed his head agitatedly.

"A new shirt…God, that's fresh. What has been your problem lately, man? All secretive."

Mark sighed. Some days he wished Roger could just keep to himself and not ask so many questions.

"It's nothing. You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't understand nothing?"

Mark shook his head and started to speed up his walk.

"Hey, hey!" Roger quickly caught up to his friend.

"Leave me alone." Mark pouted. The last thing he wanted to do was cry.

"Mark, you can tell me." Roger was beginning to soften up.

"Okay well….you know…okay you know that murder that happened a while ago?" Mark started, trying not to get all flustered like he did before.

"Yes…?" Roger raised an eyebrow.

"Well I was there…and I…I captured it on film….I had my camera with me…and the guy…the murderer, he saw me, and he was the one who beat me up and I…I don't know."

Roger stared his friend in the eye in slight shock. "Mark..."

"What?"

"…dude."

"Roger, what? Finish sentences."

"I didn't think…like, I didn't _know_." Roger was half stunned and have scared.

"It's okay, Joanne knows."

"Good...That's...That's good, Mark."

They walked back to their loft in silence. Mark was sure Roger wasn't going to say anything to Collins, but he didn't feel like addressing that tonight. It'd half to wait for another day.

They entered their loft, and right away Mark could feel something wasn't right.

Roger flicked on a light and there before them, their recently cleaned loft was a mess. Papers strewn, glasses broken, chairs and lamps tossed around.

Mark and Roger could only stare in awe at their messy loft.

And on a wall, in huge letters "DIE, MARK COHEN." were written.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: It's Jenna's turn now! R&R please, you've been great so far!  
**

"What...the..._hell_?!" Thomas B. Collins surveyed the loft he had once lived in with two of his best friends in total and utter awe. His arm linked with Angel's, he carefully stepped over broken bottles and random objects all over the floor. "Be careful, baby," he warned her.

Angel, who was walking a little ways behind him as she held onto his arm, couldn't muster up anything to say. She only could look around the huge messy room and wonder how all of this could have possibly happened.

To her left, a window was smashed. To her right, in blue spray paint on the wall were the words, "DIE, MARK COHEN". Shuddering, she held on to Collins a little bit tighter as they walked over to where Mark and Roger were.

Roger had called everyone over to the loft for two reasons. For one thing, he knew that he and Mark couldn't clean up the loft by themselves. Secondly, it was obvious that they all deserved an explanation as to what was going on behind closed doors.

Mark and he had been attempting to scrub the words off the wall with some soap and sponges when everyone had eventually arrived.

"What...happened?" Maureen whispered, gazing at the horrible sights before her.

Roger looked to Mark, who was staring at a section of the letter "I" and was silent.

Maureen was getting impatient. "Anyone gonna answer me?"

"When did this happen?" asked Mimi, biting her lower lip.

Mark still refused to answer, prompting Collins to resort to "Professor mode".

"Hey man, if you got somethin' to say, then you better say it. We're all supposed to be your friends and you're supposed to trust us. So you either tell us what's going on or we're out of here. You hear me?"

Roger shook his head. "He hasn't talked all day. I don't know _who the hell he thinks he is_," he said to his friends, uttering the last few words loudly and resentfully, hoping Mark would pick up on his anger.

Mark just panned down the room at everyone's scared and concerned faces. Mark didn't want them to notice how upset he was. He wanted to be left alone.

"Mark, sweetie?" Angel walked toward him tentatively, "Are you gonna tell us what happened?"

Everyone was still staring at him, and it made Mark uneasy. He looked to Joanne, whose expression was forlorn.

"Screw all of you. Go to hell." In utter anger, Mark threw his sponge into the bucket of water, sending it splashing everywhere before kicking the trash can they'd placed beside them and heading into his room.

No one knew what to say. Finally, Joanne cleared her throat and prompted everyone to look in her direction.

"I guess since Mark is having a little bit of a, um...rough time, I should explain to you guys what's happening. You have a right to know."

They listened attentively as Joanne told them all about what Mark had seen, and how he was being punished for it.

Maureen closed her eyes and bit her lip. "Why didn't you guys tell us this before?"

"Mark didn't want anyone to know, honeybear," Joanne replied, wrapping an arm around Maureen's waist gently, "He was afraid for all of your safety. He figured I could back him up, so I was the only one he spoke of anything to."

Mimi and Roger exchanged a glance. Angel's eyes shifted back and forth nervously, and Collins stuffed his hands in his pockets and was silent.

"So, let's track the bastard down," he said after a moment. Everyone looked to him in surprise and he continued, "I ain't gonna let him screw around with us."

"Collins," Angel warned in a hush whisper, but he ignored her.

"I won't let him torment one of my best friends. I wanna track him down and show him who's boss." Collins was staring down at the ground, gritting his teeth together.

Joanne shook her head and replied, "Collins, it's not that simple...He's a murderer. He's killed once and he could do it again. If anything, we would have to turn to the police, but by the time we get Mark's consent, it might be a little too late to catch the guy. We waited too long."

"The police won't do shit," Mimi muttered, "This is something we need to do on our own."

Roger was quiet as he continued to wash the words off the wall. The group of bohemians couldn't help but feel just as upset as he was.

Mimi was the first to walk over to Roger, put a hand on his shoulder, and grab the sponge Mark had left. She began to scrub along with him, and soon everyone was pitching in to clean up.

Maureen grabbed the dusty old broom in the corner of the kitchen and began to sweep up some broken glass and pieces of paper. Joanne helped her brush it all into a pile.

Collins and Angel straightened out the furniture, working together to lift heavy objects and put them into place.

* * *

Eventually, Mark quietly shuffled out of his bedroom to find everyone working steadily to fix their messy loft.

"Pass me the dust mop, honey..."

"Mimi, baby, you missed the corner of the 'e' up there."

"...Eewh. That's gross. Pookie, pick that up. I just got my nails done."

"Not a chance in hell that's gonna work...move it over to your left!"

"Roger, here's the bucket..."

He felt guilty as he took another couple of steps forward and realized that the only person who wasn't making an effort was him.

So he headed over to Roger and placed a hand on his arm. Roger turned around to face his friend, and Mark said, "Take a break. I'll wash."

Before Roger could approve or deny this request, Mark took the sponge from Roger's hand and exchanged a hopeful glance with Mimi. "You okay, Mark?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mark muttered, straightening his glasses with his free hand. "Yeah, I'll be alright."

When the entire loft had been cleaned up, the group surveyed their accomplishments and were proud of the results.

"Thanks, everyone," Mark said, "Roger and I couldn't have done this without you. I guess Joanne must have told you everything and...Please, understand where I'm coming from...I was afraid to talk to any of you about it. I wasn't about to lose any of you just yet."

Angel smiled a little. "It's okay, honey. We're always here for you, you know."

"Yeah, Angel...A lot of shit is going on right now, but if there's anything that I'm sure of...I'm definitely sure of that.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

A few weeks had passed and there was no word from or about the murderer.

Roger had decided not to mention anything about what had happened to Mark, because he wasn't sure how his friend would take it.

* * *

One bright morning, Mark awoke to the sounds of horns and angry drivers outside his window. 

Usually this would never wake him, because, after all, he did live in New York City, but this time it was different.

Mark had a nightmare, and he couldn't seem to forget about it.

It constantly ran through his head.

It started a few nights ago, the dream, but it seemed to continue each night for him.

The first dream seemed to happen in slow motion. Mark would be at a mall, and he would hear two gun shots.

_BANG, BANG!_

Mark would turn around and he would see Roger, on the ground, bleeding out his chest.

The next dream, Angel was shot, then Maureen, Mimi, Collins, Benny (although Mark wasn't too upset about Benny getting shot, but still), and this recent one, Joanne was the last one to be shot.

What about him?

The car horns reminded him of the gun shots.

Although they were distinct different noises, Mark had a feeling that everything would remind him of the murder, and everything would remind him of the dream.

Slowly he got dressed and made his way out of his room into their loft.

"Good morning." He greeted a sleepy Roger who was reading the Village Voice.

"Mhmm; hey." Roger took a sip of coffee and flipped through the paper.

"Anything new?" Mark asked, peering over Roger's shoulder as he got some coffee for himself.

"Not really."

Mark watched as his friend flipped through the pages, but an image caught his eye.

"Wait, turn back a few pages."

"Who said this was your paper?"

"Just do it."

Roger flipped back two pages and sure enough, in the right hand corner, the face of a man that only Mark recognized was there, with "THEIF CAUGHT!" underneath it.

"Do we know him? He apparently stole some shit from a furniture store...a lamp or somethin'? I haven't read it...Heh, he kinda looks like Collins, don't you think?…Mark…Mark?" Roger turned around, and there wasn't a Mark Cohen in sight.

* * *

"So did you hear about it?" 

"Yes."

"And what do you think?"

Joanne sighed, took a sip of her iced tea, and leaned back in her chair.

Mark arranged once again to meet with her at the Life to discuss the situation alone.

Even though everybody knew about it, Mark felt like discussing it with just Joanne would be calmer and would make more sense. Plus he wouldn't be hearing Maureen's now classic line, "We'll kick his ass!" for the hundredth time.

Joanne tapped her fingers on the table they shared and she sighed once more.

"Well…the best thing to do is go down to the police station and tell them you witness a murder, and you think that's the guy."

"I _know_ that's the guy."

"Well okay," Joanne seemed a little impatient, "Well we aren't too sure yet. I mean, the images in those newspapers are pretty shitty, Mark. Didn't you say Roger said it looked like Collins?"

"Well Roger has awful eyesight. I know it's him; it's the guy I saw. I know it."

"Fine, if you are sure."

"I'm sure."

"Okay well I'll arrange a line up at the station."

"Thank you so much."

"It better be worth it."

* * *

The rest of the day, Mark hung out around the village, not sure quite what to do with himself. He didn't want to go back to the loft because he knew Roger would grill him for details.

Finally, while sitting on a park bench and reading an old newspaper, Mark heard his name being called and looked up to see Joanne speed walking towards him.

"Mark…Mark!" She sounded out of breath.

"Good news?" Mark stood up and walked towards her.

"Only the best," She smiled, "They are waiting for you at the station."

Mark and Joanne took a cab to the police station, deciding to split a cab (Joanne paid a little more then Mark could, considering she had a job). As they arrived, Mark could feel butterflies in his stomach.

_Should I being doing this? _He thought to himself. _I was so sure but now…what if it isn't the guy? What if I've been wrong all along? _

The cab finally stopped at the police station, and Mark and Joanne stepped out.

"You sure you wanna do this?"

Mark just nodded and he followed Joanne down the steps into the station.

They were greeted by a friendly officer who shook Mark's hand as soon as he saw them enter.

"Mark, this is Detective. Flack. Detective Flack, this is Mark Cohen." Joanne smiled as she introduced them.

The detective looked like he was in his mid thirties, tall with black hair, Mark noted, and he had a thick New York accent.

"Okay so all we are gonna do is make you stand right here," the detective pointed to a spot in front of a huge window with blinds, "and a bunch of guys are gonna turn around, and just tell me which one you recognize. They can't see or hear you so don't worry, okay?"

Mark nodded and stood where he was told to. Detective Flack nodded at another officer standing near the window, and he opened up the blinds.

"Okay, everybody turn around." Flack said into a small microphone near the window.

Mark watched as, almost like robots, the men turned around to face Mark.

"Okay, take a good look at all of them." Joanne said softly, holding Mark's shoulder.

Mark nodded and concentrated on the six bodies in front of him.

Numbers one, two and three didn't even look close to what the murderer looked like, and as Mark looked harder, neither did four or five.

Finally, Mark looked at the last man standing there, and it had to be him. His face, his features, everything was exactly correct. It had to be him.

"Take your time; we can keep them here all day." Flack smirked.

Mark smiled a little "Uh…I think, wait, no, I _know_, it's number six."

"Now Mark, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay can we have number six come forward and turn around?" Flack ordered and number six did what he was supposed to.

The whole time Mark kept his eyes on number six. It was for sure him. Mark was positive.

"Is it your guy?" Flack asked.

Mark nodded and looked at Joanne who nodded in reply.

"Book him."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Jenna is in the house! To address Law & Order fans reading this, the irony of Collins' statement about cops in this coming chapter is NOT coincidental; this is is assuming the Collins in this fic is JLM's Collins. -sly grin- Don't we all just love Eddie Green?**

* * *

"The guy's name is Raymond. Raymond Fletcher." Mark Cohen clutched onto his old, dusty camera as he sat on the couch proudly. He was tempted to kiss it, just once, of course (or maybe twice...or three times...), but the fact that his friends were there prompted him to keep his excitement to himself. 

"So, back up a sec," Maureen said, her mouth stuffed with potato chips from a bag of _Lay's_ she'd found in a cupboard, "They searched this Fletcher dude's apartment, and not only did they find the murder weapon with blood on it, but your camera, too?"

Mark nodded and replied, "Yes. 'They' being Detective Flack and his partner, Detective Ames—"

"Who, by the way," interjected Roger, "Is really hot. Get this, guys...Ames is a cop...but...she's a chick! It's rare that you see a chick cop who's hot, too."

Mimi glared at him and he quickly covered, "But she's not as hot as Mimi over there on the couch...glaring at me...with those sexy eyes."

Collins snorted, wrapping an arm around Angel's shoulders, "So, Joanne, are you waiting for them to call you about those whatcha-call-its?"

"Lab test results?" Joanne offered with a smile.

"Yeah, those things. Damn, I could never be a cop..." He shook his head and took a long gulp of Stoli. "I hate cops. And anyway, I'd probably get too angry at the suspects."

Angel giggled. "You'd be one hot cop, baby."

"Thank you."

"Moving on from Angel and Collins being corny," Mimi muttered, "What are the results supposed to say, Jo?"

"They let us know if the blood on the knife matches the victim's blood," said Joanne, "And for now, the D.A. is gonna eventually try to remand him—which means keep him in jail until trial."

Maureen shrugged and squirmed around in her seat next to her girlfriend on the couch so that she was resting her head on her lap. "All this legal stuff confuses me. It's more fun to be _il_legal."

"Amen," said Collins. The word _illegal_ reminded him of the joint he had in his pocket, which, of course, he took out and lit.

Rolling his eyes at his friends, Mark got up and gently placed his camera with the rest of his equipment. Things were looking better for him. Of course, he'd have to testify at trial when the time did come, and he was a little bit nervous about that. Would the jury believe him? Joanne assured him that they'd keep that man behind bars for at least 20 years, maybe even for life.

Mark could only hope she was right.

* * *

_He was walking aimlessly down a dark corridor, and all he could see was total pitch darkness in front and behind him. He felt around for some place to sit, for his legs were tired and his muscles worn._

_Mark was confused. Where was the light? He longed to be able to see again. He figured the only thing to do was keep walking until he found even the slightest shine of light in the emptiness of his mind._

_The thought struck him as peculiar: _Where am I? Am I inside my mind? Is this real?

_Taking slow, staggering steps, he kept walking until suddenly, the darkness seemed to fade and he was standing outside of his own loft. The door was opened just a crack, and it seemed to be brighter in there. Mark longed for the brightness; craved for it; needed it. With a little shove, he opened the door and surveyed his surroundings._

_Letting out a little cry, Mark saw. He heard. Trying to project his voice out into the open, he made an attempt to speak, but no sound would escape his lips._

_There, lying on the ground, was his roommate and best friend, Roger Davis. He was unmoving and lifeless, and it occurred to Mark that he was lying in the same twisted, horrific position that the victim of none other than Raymond Fletcher had been, back in the alleyway._

_Mark took a couple of more steps forward and looked up from his friend's body with tears in his eyes. It was then he saw the rest of his friends' motionless figures in every part of the room._

_Maureen and Joanne were sprawled out next to each other against the wall, their eyes wide open in the final terror they had experienced. Their heads had been bashed against the wall and there was blood spatter everywhere._

_Mimi was the most brutalized, as she had bruises and scars everywhere on her body. It looked as if she had fought to escape. Mark wished that she had._

_Angel and Collins had been murdered on Mark's own couch. It was like their deaths had frozen a moment in time—their hands were intertwined and Angel was resting against Collins' chest almost as if she were simply asleep._

_Mark was letting out choking, bloodcurdling sobs at this point. His friends were gone, and he was alone._

"_It's not over yet, Mark Cohen," said a voice. Mark whirled around and saw Fletcher standing there with blood all over his clothes and hands. "You're next."_

_Everything around Mark was spinning. He was confusing reality with an imaginary world unlike his own._

"Mark?"

_He heard another nameless voice, but Fletcher was coming closer and Mark didn't have time to figure out who it was._

"Mark, man, wake up! What the hell?!"

_His friends were dead and it was all his fault. He ratted on the killer and now he was taking revenge on him. He felt sick. Fletcher whipped out his bloody knife and put it to Mark's neck. Just as he was about to give in..._

"MARK!"

He sat up in bed, sweat trickling down his forehead. Whipping his head to the left where he'd heard the voice, he saw Roger and Mimi peering down at him nervously.

Mimi had a glass of water in her hands and she gave it to him. "Mark, what happened?"

Mark couldn't muster up anything to say at first. He gulped down the water as Roger told him what happened.

"You were screaming. Literally, man; at the top of your lungs. It scared the shit out of Mimi and me, so we ran in to see what was going on."

"It was a dream?" Mark simply asked.

Mimi and Roger both gaped at him. "...What was?" Mimi asked.

"The...the knife...and he...and you...and Maureen and Joanne...and Angel...Collins...you..." Mark fell back down onto the bed in exasperation.

"Relax, Mark. Nothing happened. We're all here," Roger said, making an attempt to sound comforting in his own way.

"It's okay, Mark," Mimi assured, "Whatever it was, it was just a nightmare."

Mark shuddered and closed his eyes. "Thanks...I'm sorry I woke you guys up...I'll be fine..."

They left with final words of comfort and Mark tried to shove the images of his dream to the back of his mind.

He'd been having these dreams for he past couple of weeks, but this, by far, had been the worst.

His final thought before he drifted off into a restless sleep was whether his nightmares would truly become reality, or would just remain figments of his imagination...


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Samantha's computer is being fixed this week, and she e-mailed me from a local library to tell me what she wanted me to write for this chapter, which I will be writing for her. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: Own nothing, never will. **_**All About Birds**_

* * *

"Rog, can I ask you something?" Mark was dusting the extremely messy coffee table in front of the couch that Roger was sitting on. It was a rare occasion should either Mark or Roger actually make an attempt to clean their messy loft, but Mark found himself fidgety and uneasy and wasn't sure what else to do with himself.

Roger was only half-listening at first, as he was making another useless attempt to write a song. He was staring resentfully at the scribbles and cross-outs on the piece of paper in his hands, his legs stretched out on the couch. "Yeah. Sure."

"Uh...remember how I freaked out last night?"

"Yeah. You've always been twitchy, Mark, but that was where I drew the line between 'twitchy' and 'crazy'."

Mark looked up from his dusting. "Very funny, Mr. I-Can't-Write-a-Song. Speaking of which, why don't you get your lazy ass off the couch and help me?"

"I think I'll pass on that, Mark," Roger replied with a sarcastic smile, "Now, you were saying?"

The blonde sighed. "Well...I was freaking out because...I had these...dreams. And they weren't normal nightmares, Rog. They were freakin' scary."

Roger was looking at him questioningly, which prompted Mark to begin quietly explaining to him the details of the dreams he was having. He said each word shakily and tentatively, as if he were reliving the dream all over again.

When he finished, Roger simply stared down at the ground for a second or two, his hands folded and his elbows resting on his knees. "Mark..._Shit_, man."

"I know," Mark said, "I couldn't...I couldn't control what...happened...and...I wanted to ask you what you think I should...do...about this."

Roger interrupted him: "Relax, man. I have an idea."

"You do?" Mark asked hopefully.

"Yeah. It's real simple. Just read a book before you go to sleep...a book about anything. Like...birds, or something. I know we have a book about birds because we stole it from the library that time, remember?" He chucked lightly.

Mark rolled his eyes. "'We' being you and Collins, high as a freakin' kite. Of all the books to steal..."

"Heh. I know. But anyway, read that book, and you'll be thinking about birds before you go to sleep. And chances are you won't have those...nightmares."

Mark thought about this briefly. It wasn't a _bad _idea...It couldn't hurt, could it? "Okay. I'll try that. Thanks, Rog."

"No problem. I'm gonna go to Mimi's. See ya." Roger heaved a sigh, stood up, and headed out of the loft.

Realizing that he was very tired from the previous night's events, Mark decided he'd experiment with Roger's idea. He went over to their shelf and pulled out _All About Birds_. Smirking slightly, he shook his head, went to the couch and flopped down against a pillow. _Wow_. All About Birds._ Shit, what were they thinking?_

He opened the book and began to read: "Birds are warm-blooded vertebrae. They are characterized by the color of their feathers. Rather than teeth, they have beaks that are used for not only eating but also climbing and..."

He was asleep in a matter of minutes.

* * *

"Mark, are you alive? Because it's not the appropriate time to decide you wanna drop dead." 

Mark opened his eyes to the hazy view before him. He was sweating and shaking, and he felt nauseous. Blinking rapidly, he adjusted his vision and saw Joanne peering down at him.

"You okay?" she asked, "I had to have Roger let me in here 'cause you weren't answering the phone. And it wasn't any bowlful of cherries going to bother him, because he was...let's just say...taking care of some business with Mimi at her apartment. So thanks for making me witness that."

"No offense, Joanne," he said, "But it's creepy that you're almost always there when I wake up."

She laughed a little. In all honesty, Mark wasn't okay. He'd had another dream—damn Roger and his stupid idea. He was angry, but he knew in the back of his mind that it hadn't been Roger's fault.

This dream had been different, though. It was almost like an outer-body experience...it was pitch black, and all he had heard were voices, saying things like, "Someone call an ambulance!", "Is he okay?", "Is he gonna make it?" and things like that.

Nonetheless, he was afraid.

"So, I came here to tell you some news," Joanne finally said.

Mark sat up and wiped some sweat from his forehead. "Yeah?"

"We have a court date. Two weeks from today. And believe me, I'm gonna prep you until your brain explodes. We're gonna win this, Mark, okay?"

Mark nodded nervously. "God, Jo...what if they don't believe me?"

"You'll be fine, Mark. We've all got your back." She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it, smiling reassuringly. "I'll talk to you later, okay? We need to review what kind of questions that sleazy-ass defense attorney is gonna ask you."

"Okay. See you."

When she left, all Mark could do was bury his face in his hands.

"God, _why_ am I the witness?!" he cried out in utter exasperation. Sighing shakily, he picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

"Collins? That you?"

Mark could almost hear Collins' characteristic smile over the telephone line. "Hey, Mark, man. What's up?"

"I..." Mark gulped. "Are you busy?"

"Nope. Just got home from work, and Angel went out to drum. You sound a little scared. You alright, man?"

"I...I don't know, Collins. I just...need someone to talk to...I'm...God, I don't freakin' _know_! Shit..." He hated to sound like a coward to his friend, but somehow he knew Collins understood.

He could hear the sincerity in Collins' voice. "Go ahead, man, it's cool. I'm all ears."

And that was when Mark began to feel almost like a volcano, about to erupt with emotions that he couldn't control. He questioned whether he should have even called him in the first place—

Collins' voice was heard on the line again. "Mark? You still there? I'm here for you, okay?"

That was all Mark needed to hear.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sam here. Thankfully my computer is finally fixed and I'll be able to write once again! Thank you for all the reviews, Jenna and I love em, so keep them coming!**

* * *

Mark lay as still as he could, staring up at the fake-stucco ceiling in his room. 

He had spent at least four days with Joanne, which surprisingly wasn't_ too_ bad, considering she did most of the talking in their whole conversation, asking him direct questions about the murder.

Mark was still nervous, even as well prepped as he was. Joanne advised him to just stay at home, relax and film something to get his mind off of any stress, but nothing seemed to work.

He was tempted to talk to Roger, but Roger was always with Mimi or locking himself in his room, trying once again to write a song. Mark _wanted_ to talk to him, he really did. Roger was his best friend after all, but Mark never knew how Roger would react to anything he said. He also wondered if Roger would understand what he was going through, considering he has never stepped foot inside a court room.

He sighed, closed his eyes, prayed that a nightmare wouldn't occur again, and sank into a steady, deep sleep.

* * *

Mark awoke to the sound of yelling outside his room. 

"What the hell." Mark muttered. He got dressed and put on his glasses, still feeling sleepy.

"God Roger, you are so insensitive!"

"Insensitive? What's _that_ supposed to mean? _You_ are over dramatic, practically Maureen!"

"See? You always have to insult me."

"What the hell? I thought you liked Maureen!"

Mark stepped out of his room, watching as Roger and Mimi, once again, bickered.

Mark had noticed the pattern a few weeks ago. Roger would say something to upset Mimi, who, would in turn, start yelling at Roger. Roger would reply with something which Mimi didn't usually like, and the whole thing would start over again. The next week Mimi and Roger would be obscenely making out on their couch as if nothing happened.

"Oh hi Mark." Mimi greeted him, running her hands through her hair and quickly glared at Roger. "Roger didn't wake you, did he? I always tell him he yells too loud--"

"I what?"

Mimi held up her hands "Sorry, I forgot, _nothing_ is your fault."

Mark shook his head, rolling his eyes at his two friends and pushed through them to get some coffee.

"Would you just chill out? Everything makes you mad." Roger said, shaking his head and sighing.

"Fine, whatever. I'll talk to you later." Mimi left the loft, head down and dragged her feet a little.

Roger shook his head again and walked towards Mark who was pouring some coffee.

"You two always fight."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Don't mention it, Colonel Sadness." Mark smirked, sitting on their couch carefully so he wouldn't spill his coffee. Last thing he needed know were third-degree burns.

"So how is the trial prep coming along?" Roger asked, taking a long sip of his coffee.

"Okay."

"Just okay?" Roger furrowed his brow and plopped himself down on a ratty old chair.

"Well yeah I mean…Joanne is great, and--"

"Pretty hot."

Mark stared at Roger and blinked. "You better not let Maureen hear that."

Roger laughed. "What's she gonna do? Hit me with a cowbell or something? _Please._"

"Anyway," Mark was ready to change the conversation, "you would be nervous too if you had to go into some strange court room and talk to people."

"Dude, I was in a band. I had to _sing_ to people. That's like, a lot worse."

"Uh, how?"

"Well, if you are out of tune, which, I never was, but if your voice sucks or your band sucks or whatever, it's a lot worse. People boo you…throw things at you. Not that I would ever know about that," Roger said quickly, "I just know from other people's experiences…that's all. Everybody loved me." He grinned.

"You're a big help." Mark sighed sarcastically and looked down into his coffee. He watched as the creamer swirled around with the brown liquid. Mark found random joy in watching this.

"You know, Mimi and I have been fighting a lot lately." Roger said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Why?" Mark asked, looking up from his coffee.

"I don't know," Roger sighed, "I never say the right thing. And when I do say what I think is the right thing, it's the wrong thing in her mind. Chicks are so confusing."

Mark laughed and a small smile formed on his lips.

"What, my misery makes you happy or something?"

"Sorta. It makes my situation not seem as bad."

This time it was Roger's turn to smile. He picked up a pillow and tossed it at Mark, narrowly missing Mark's coffee.

"Hey!" Mark laughed and tossed it back, not even close to where Roger was sitting.

"You were never good at baseball. Or throwing anything, really."

"Funny."

Roger smirked a little, and then a soft-serious look appeared on his face.

"You know Mark, uh, I was never good at like, listening but you know…if you wanna talk about anything…like the trail, for a random example, just tell me. Okay?"

Mark smiled and nodded his head. "Thanks, Rog."

"But don't get all mushy on me or anything." Roger snapped quickly, getting up and grabbing his guitar. He dumped his coffee out in their sink and headed towards his room, shutting his door with a loud slam.

"Yeah, you too." Mark said to the empty loft, smiling to himself.

A few minutes later, the phone rang and Mark, as usual let the machine pick it up.

_SPEEEEEEEEEEEEAK _

"Hey, Mark, it's Joanne. Throw down the key."

Mark smiled and picked up the key from their kitchen counter, and walked over to the large dusty window, leaned over and tossed the key to a rather preppy-dressed Joanne.

She caught the key perfectly and shouted quick thanks before briskly walking towards the door.

_Everything she does is so lawer-ish _Mark thought, walking towards their loft door to greet Joanne.

About two seconds passed and Mark heard a knock on the door.

_And she's a quick walker too. _

"Okay so I need to talk to you and get some stuff prepared." Joanne said quickly, entering the loft with a large briefcase.

"And hello to you too." Mark laughed, closing the door behind her.

"Oh God Mark, I'm sorry." Joanne gasped, obviously frazzled.

"It's fine, I was just kidding." Mark reassured her.

"No no it's just…..I've been having awful cases lately and I can't seem to win any…" Joanne looked up at a now frightened Mark.

"But we will win this one, I promise." She said, nodding her head and sitting down on the couch, making an _oomph_ noise.

Mark soon joined Joanne on the couch and patiently listened as she went through some court room stuff. Mark could hardly keep up, Joanne was talking too fast.

"So is it all clear and okay?" Joanne finally asked, taking a deep breath and shuffling her papers around.

"I guess."

"You guess?" Joanne raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah yeah, it's fine." Mark smiled a little, trying to look convincing.

"Well if you don't understand anything, I'll be happy to explain it again."

"No no, it's okay." He said, nodding his head this time, trying to look and sound more convincing then the last time.

Joanne bought it and smiled. "Well good. And get plenty of rest; the trial will be here before you know it."

"I will."

"And we _will_ get this guy, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. I better go….Maureen has been complaining that I'm never home. If only _she_ had a job, maybe she'd understand." Joanne said, rolling her eyes. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Mark nodded and opened the door for her.

"The trial will be here before you know it." Mark repeated to himself, feeling a little queasy.

He ran his fingers through his hair and made himself another cup of coffee.

_It'll go fine, _Mark thought, reassuring himself.

_Would it?_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Jenna here. Thanks for all the reviews! Enjoy this chapter. DISCLAIMER: We own nothing.**

* * *

"Mr. Cohen," Joanne Jefferson's stern voice echoed throughout the large courtroom as she addressed her first witness on the stand, "I'd like you to tell me about the night of March 24th. Everything you can remember."

Mark Cohen felt the butterflies begin to dart all around in his stomach. He was sweating. His head ached. This was _it_. He was sitting in the wooden witness chair, Judge McDonald sitting to his right. This was the moment, and God help him should he screw it up.

"Uh," was the first sound that left his mouth. It was as if the room was answering back to him..._uh, uh, uh_...as his voice resounded in the room, like Joanne's had. He gulped and continued, "Well, I had gone out to film...I'm a, uh, I'm a film maker...And there's this alleyway right near my apartment building in the East Village...That's where I saw him."

"Who, Mar—Mr. Cohen?" Joanne tried not to be too personal with Mark—after all, neither the judge nor the jury knew that Mark and Joanne personally knew each other before the trial. That could potentially be considered some kind of conflict should anyone find out.

Mark pointed a shaky finger to the defense table below him, into those cold eyes. "The defendant. Raymond Fletcher."

The jury shifted their gaze from Mark to Fletcher, who sat with an unchanging, gruesome scowl on his face.

"What else did you see?"

"He was in a black hoodie...and he had a knife. A silver knife—"

Joanne interrupted briefly to hold up a knife in a clear plastic bag, saying, "Peoples' #4, your Honor." Judge McDonald nodded a little, and Joanne resumed her questioning: "Is this the knife you saw the defendant holding?"

Mark nodded vigorously and said, "Yes."

Joanne held up the knife for the jury to see before placing it back on the table. "What was the defendant doing with the knife, Mr. Cohen?"

"He was stabbing this other guy, who was on the ground...Later I found out he was the victim Aaron Stephens...and he was trying to get up. But there was more stabbing...and blood...and..." Mark choked up a little and looked down at his friends in the back of the courtroom for some reassurance of sorts.

Roger had his arms crossed in front of his chest and his piercing brown eyes looked the same as they always did. But his expression seemed to say, _Keep going, Mark, you're doing fine_. Mimi gave him a quick thumbs-up sign before anyone else could see. Angel was nodding at him ever so discreetly, a small smile gracing her lips. Collins had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, biting his lower lip like he always did when he was just a little nervous. Maureen just had her head tilted to the side a little, her face full of concern, and she was beautiful.

This prompted him to gain a little more confidence as Joanne said, "Were either of the two men talking at this time?"

Suddenly, for some reason, Mark's mind drew a blank, and he began to panic. He hadn't watched the film in a while—why would he _want_ to—and wasn't exactly sure.

Joanne tried to help him along a little: "Did the defendant threaten him or something? Did Aaron maybe ask for him to—"

"Objection!" shouted the defense attorney, Joseph Carussi, standing up abruptly, "Speculation!"

"Sustained," Judge McDonald said, "Tone it down, Ms. Jefferson."

Joanne closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. Mark knew that meant she was becoming frustrated. He didn't want to disappoint her. "I'll rephrase the question. Could you hear any speaking going on between the two?"

And then he remembered: _Don't freakin' move, or I'll bash your face in so hard you'll be flying across the city, you hear?_

He shuddered and then said, "Yes! Yes, they talked a little. Fletcher said for Aaron not to move, or else he would kill him. And Aaron said for him to please let him go, that it was all an accident, and that Fletcher couldn't do all of this to him...and Fletcher said that he could, and he stabbed him over and over until Aaron died." Mark took in a deep breath. His voice had started shaking toward the end.

You could hear a pin drop in the entire room. The members of the jury were looking at each other nervously.

Then Joanne asked some more questions about how the loft had been torn apart. "Yes, my room mate Roger and my friends helped clean everything up. But the words 'Die, Mark Cohen' had been written on the wall..." He took a breath. "I knew it was him."

"Thank you, Mr. Cohen. I know that may have been difficult. A few more questions for you."

Mark and his friends knew what this would be. The big reveal.

"Is it true that you recorded these events yourself on camera, Mr. Cohen?"

Mark could almost feel everyone sitting on the edge of their seats. "Yes, that's true."

"Peoples' exhibit #6," Joanne said, and the bailiff came out with a huge projector, placing it so it was standing next to Mark's seat.

And the film began to play.

Mark couldn't bear to look. He glanced over to his friends, who were staring in utter awe at the film, flashes of colors from the film reflected off of their faces. He heard the sounds, the pleading, the swearing, the knife...in and out...

Then it was over.

Joanne went on to ask Mark about when he'd gotten beat up by Fletcher: "What do you think he wanted from you?"

"My roll of film that had the whole murder recorded on it. Luckily I had that at home. But he took my camera. I was lucky that the detectives found it for me at Fletcher's apartment."

Joanne nodded to him and he knew she was proud. "Thank you, Mr. Cohen." She took her seat and a gulp from her cup of water.

Mark couldn't help but feel triumphant. That film had to have won the jury over; it just _had_ to have.

But what would happen when the defense attorney began grilling him in the cross-examination? Mark didn't want to think about that as McDonald ordered a brief trial recess before the cross-examining could begin.

* * *

"Oh, honey, you're doing so great!" Angel squealed as soon as they were outside the room. She pulled Mark into a tight hug, and he blushed a little.

"Uh, thanks, Angel..." he replied sheepishly.

Collins pat him on the back. "Don't let that defense attorney bastard stand in your way, bro. God, I hate the legal system..."

Angel giggled. "You're so cute when you act all anti-government."

"I know, right? I'm very sexy. It sometimes gets in the way of my antiestablishmentarianism."

"I love it when you use big words, baby." Angel moved away from Mark to kiss Collins.

Mimi made fake retching sounds beside them. "Oh, get a room. There's a big sign right there that says, 'Please speak quietly while in the courthouse'."

"It doesn't say, 'Please refrain from making out with your hot drag queen girlfriend', does it, Mimi?"

"Well I think I'm gonna go make a sign that says just that if you can't keep from playing tonsil hockey."

"Where's Pookie?" Maureen pouted.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Get a grip, will you? Mark isn't allowed to make much contact with her outside of trial stuff, so you might not see her until later."

Maureen sniffed, but turned to Mark and gave him a reassuring smile.

But Mark wasn't feeling so reassured at the moment.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: A few more chapters after this one. Sorry it's so short, I just wanted it to be to the point and for it to make sense! Thank you guys for all the support!!! Keep up the reviews!

* * *

As Mark and his friends piled into the court room after the recess was through, Mark could feel his palms starting to get sweaty.

He sat down beside Joanne, and watched as Carussi stood up.

"I'd like to call Mr. Mark Cohen to the stand for cross-examination." Carussi's voice was confident but seemed a little weak to Mark.

The whole courtroom that mostly consisted of Bohemians who were on Mark's defense watched as the Mark steadily stood up and walked slowly towards the witness chair.

Mark repeated in his mind. Joanne had told him this before the trail had started. He was having trouble with the first two and the last one. He knew that the third point wouldn't be a bowl of cherries. 

He took his place in the witness chair, glancing at Joanne who nodded quickly at him.

"So, Mr. Cohen, my defendant, Mr. Fletcher, is the man that you are _sure _you saw that night?"

"Yes."

"Could it of been somebody else? I mean…many people wear the clothes you are describing. A mistake perhaps?"

"I know who I saw." Mark said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Okay. Another question, why did you have your camera with you while you filmed this alleged murder?"

"Well, I am a filmmaker," Mark said slowly, "So I like to bring my camera wherever I go. It's a quirk, I suppose."

The lawyer nodded, his mind seemed to be deep in thought.

"Another question, Mr. Cohen. I noticed how nervous you were while your lawyer, Ms.Jefferson was questioning you," Carussi then turned to the jury, "why would you be so nervous about answering when you seem so confident about what you witnessed?"

"OBJECTION!" Joanne practically yelled, her eyes seemed to come alive with fire as the whole courtroom turned towards her. "You have no right to question Ma --, _Mr. Cohen's_ answers. Mr. Cohen _knows_ what he saw."

"Order, order." Judge McDonald said, partially sighing. "Calm down, Ms.Jefferson. Carussi, smarten up."

Joanne, now obviously pissed off, crossed her arms and sat down, her eyes squinting at the other lawyer who blatantly smiled at her.

"No more questions." Carussi smirked as he passed Joanne, which angered her even more.

She thought, slowly feeling her face getting red. She looked up at Mark, who almost looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. 

"Thank you, Mr. Cohen." Judge McDonald nodded towards Mark.

Mark let out a deep sigh and slowly descended from the witness chair and walked toward Joanne who curtly nodded at him.

"Good job." She whispered as he sat beside her.

"Thanks." Mark said a little breathless, trying to relax in his chair.

"I'd like to call my defendant, Mr. Raymond Fletcher to the stand." Carussi said, slipping on a pair of reading glasses.

Fletcher crossed to the stand, and Mark could feel all eyes following him, the tension in the court room was getting stronger.

Carussi started his questioning with the obvious question.

"Where were you the night of this alleged murder?"

Fletcher started to chew on his lip.

"At my house."

"Do you have anybody to verify that?"

"I live alone." Fletcher snapped.

Carussi was getting a little impatient with his client, and it was quite clear to everybody.

"But you used to have a wife, correct?"

Fletcher nodded. "And a kid."

"Why did you two divorce?"

"She was banging my brother."

Even though the court room was silent, Mark could hear Roger snort with laughter and Mimi hitting him and telling him to shut up.

"I see. And you received money from the divorce, correct?"

"Right."

"How much did you receive?"

"I dunno….it was enough. I can pay my bills."

"Now," Carussi turned to the jury, "Why would you steal from people off the street if you have enough money to keep you happy and content?"

"I wouldn't." Fletcher nodded. Mark noticed he shot an icy stare towards him.

Mark looked away.

"Have you ever seen this man before?" Carussi pointed to Mark.

Fletcher shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think so."

"Yes or no."

"…no."

"Have you ever been to his apartment?"

"Never."

"Was this court trial the first time you have ever seen him?"

"Uh huh. I would have recognized the big head"

Mark blushed and looked down.

"Very well. No more questions."

Fletcher stuck his hands in his pockets and followed his lawyer towards their table.

"Alright, a ten minute recess will take place before cross examination." The Judge declared, before slipping in, "I really need a smoke."

The courtroom was buzzing with voices and Joanne nudged Mark.

"We will get him. And your head isn't that big."

"Thanks." Mark smiled, his skin still feeling hot.

"And I swear, I'll grill him like a piece of chicken, you'll see."

Mark nodded again and sighed.

He just wanted this to be over.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: The end is near, my friends! R&R please!**

* * *

"Mr. Fletcher," Joanne's booming voice declared, "Would you be so kind as to describe what outfit you were wearing on the night of the murder?" 

The corner of Raymond's lip twitched a little as he replied, "A dark sweatshirt and jeans."

Joanne looked at the jury members. "Just like in Mr. Cohen's film. Ironic, huh?"

"Objection!" Carussi was right on the ball.

"Sustained," said Judge McDonald.

Joanne shrugged. "So, according to your statement, you only _briefly_ knew Aaron Stephens."

"That's right. He was just a coworker. Nothin' more."

"Well, if it was nothing more than that, why was it necessary to kill him?"

"I didn't. Someone else did."

Mark's heart was throbbing. They had to win this. They just had to.

"Is it true," Joanne questioned, "That you were stealing money from the advertising business you work at?"

Mark heard a gasp from the behind him and looked to the back of the room. Angel had her hand clamped over her mouth and Collins was whispering something to her. Maureen's eyes were wide as she clutched on to a nerve-racked Mimi's hand. Roger was biting his lip.

"Objection, Mrs. Jefferson is—"

McDonald snapped in retort, "Oh, pipe down, will you?"

Fletcher looked flustered, and he said, "I...how..."

"Is it true that Aaron Stephens was the only person who knew about this?"

"How did you—"

"Peoples' #7," Joanne said, holding up a piece of paper, "This is a letter found in Aaron Stephens' pocket the night he was killed, written by Aaron to his boss, Mr. James Rush. Mr. Fletcher, would you please read this letter aloud?"

Mark was shocked. Joanne had never mentioned this to him. He listened as Fletcher shakily read the letter...It mentioned that Aaron had specifically seen Fletcher on the business's computers at wee hours of the night, reworking codes and special passwords so that he had access to the money that was gained for the company.

"So you thought Stephens was a tattle-tale?" Joanne said, "And you didn't want him to rat on you, right?"

"That's not true!"

"You saw him watching you one night. You knew you were in for it." Joanne was staring Fletcher straight in the eye. "And you wanted Aaron Stephens to keep quiet."

Carussi wasn't even attempting to object at this point. It was too late.

"And now," Joanne finished, "He's dead." With that, she glanced at the jury a final time and sat back down. Mark smiled at her a little, and she confidently smirked back.

When the judge called a recess until the next day, some cops came over and handcuffed Fletcher once more, ready to take him away. As Mark was getting up to follow Joanne, he heard Fletcher spit to him, "You and your queer little friends can all go to hell."

Mark took a deep breath and said, "You first."

* * *

"Joanne, you pretty much won this over," Roger said matter-of-factly, "You owned that Fletcher guy." 

"Well, it's up to the jury to decide, Roger."

The Life Café was crowded as usual, and Mark was sitting with Roger and Angel on either side of him. Of course, a trial like this took time, but he was still apprehensive and extremely impatient. He just wanted this man put behind bars, especially after what he'd said about his friends. The group of people he was sitting with at the moment truly was like his family, and he couldn't bear to see them get hurt. They'd been supporting him so much over the past few months, even though they were going through a lot themselves.

"Mark, you okay?" Mark looked up to see Mimi staring at him quizzically. As usual, at least one person was worried about him.

"Yeah," he replied hastily, "I'm fine. Just a little nervous."

Maureen rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Eat your food, dammit, you're so skinny as it is."

Mark couldn't help but laugh at Maureen's comment. So that she'd stop bugging him, he picked up a french fry from his plate and popped it in his mouth.

He saw another hand reach over from his left and grab one of his fries.

"Hey!" Mark cried, turning to face Angel.

"What? I wanted a fry." Mark had a feeling she was trying to help him forget about the trial for a little while.

"Angel, you have fries in your plate already."

"Yeah, but they're all burned and nasty. Ick." Angel scrunched up her nose, and Collins smirked, shaking his head.

Mark rolled his eyes and threw a handful of fries on Angel's plate, pretending to be annoyed with her. "Happy now?" he asked jokingly.

"Not until I see that cute little smile of yours!"

Rolling his eyes yet again, Mark faked a cheesy smile. Collins glared at him. "Man, don't ever make that face again. I think I almost vomited my veggie burger."

"Shut up."

"Joanne, pass the ketchup! I'm freakin' starving!"

"Rog, you're always hungry..."

"Mark, I swear to God, you get thinner every day...Eat a cheeseburger. Literally."

"Pookie, do I look prettier today than usual?"

"Are you seriously expecting a straight answer to that question?"

Mark closed his eyes and smiled. If everything worked out, if the jury eventually found Fletcher guilty on all counts, he could put all of this behind him. And be with his friends again, like before. Before all of this madness.


	17. FINAL CHAPTER

**A/N: This is the final chapter of _Why Am I the Witness_. We wrote it together. Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Make sure you check out Sam's latest fic, _Mark the Latte Boy_, and my latest fic, _Don't Do Sadness_. Until then, see ya!**

* * *

"How can we believe," said Mr. Carussi, "the stories of a dead man and a starving film maker?" 

The jury blinked at him and waited for him to continue his Closing Statement.

Carussi sighed dramatically. "There's a simple answer to that question. We can't. How can we charge my client, Mr. Raymond Fletcher, of embezzlement just because of a dead guy's letter to his boss?"

The words were harsh, at least to Mark. This wasn't just a 'dead guy'. This was a _victim_.

"Let's turn our attention to the Peoples' witness, Mark Cohen. Why should we trust his information? After all, he's a broke film maker, waiting for his big break. And he wants his fame so badly that he'd be willing to do anything to attract attention for his job," Carussi said matter-of-factly, "even _stage a murder_!"

Mark looked back toward a scowling Roger, who was fighting to stand up in anger and fury at these accusations toward his best friend. Mimi held him down by grabbing onto his arm and yanking it firmly. Collins' lips were pursed in a "Oh-no-you-_didn't_" sort of look.

"Please, people of the jury, understand my client's situation. He's trying to make a living and suddenly he's being accused of crimes he most certainly didn't commit. How would you feel?" He shakes his head. "How would _you_ feel?"

As Carussi went to sit down, Mark caught Joanne rolling her eyes and couldn't help but smirk a little. Now it was time for the Peoples' closing statement.

Joanne stood up and walked towards the jury, shoulders back and a small smile was on her face. "Do you honestly think somebody like Mr. Cohen here, would make up such an elaborate story? He is a smart man with his whole life ahead of him. Do you think he would put it in jeopardy just to put some man he doesn't know in jail?"

Joanne scanned the jury and made eye contact with them.

"Sure, he doesn't have too much money but I can guarantee, this whole trial for him wasn't about the glory. It wasn't about the money. It was about justice. About a victim. About Mr. Fletcher here who _lied through his teeth_."

Joanne walked along the jury.

"Mr. Carussi is trying to turn this case around so that Mr. Cohen may seem to be a false witness. Mr. Cohen has never committed any crime, unlike Mr. Fletcher here. Mr. Cohen didn't do anything illegal. He didn't hurt anybody. He was just simply a witness. A witness in a crime that Mr. Fletcher clearly committed. I mean, the evidence is all here, and it all points to Mr. Fletcher. The evidence cannot lie. As you, the jury, should be able to see that Mr. Cohen is, in fact, the innocent one."

Joanne nodded to the jury, turned, and walked towards Mark, flashing a quick thumbs-up sign towards him.

"Good job." Mark whispered, leaning towards Joanne's ear as she sat down.

"Thanks, but it's not over yet." Joanne said, casually shuffling papers.

"Yeah but the jury looked pretty convinced." Mark said quietly.

"You can never tell with them. I think I had them, though." Joanne said, trying to sound more confident then she was. She quickly glanced towards Carussi who was in deep conversation with his client.

* * *

"Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge McDonald asked monotonously. 

"We have, your honor," said a woman in a dark magenta dress suit.

"How do you find?"

The woman took a deep breath. "We find the defendant, Raymond Fletcher, guilty on all counts."

Mark's smile could be seen everywhere in the court room—he was almost illuminating with a combination of excitement, happiness, and relief. Joanne turned around from her seat with the Assistant D.A. and gave him the biggest hug she could muster. Mark hugged her back.

He wasn't paying attention as Judge McDonald mentioned something about sentencing and slammed his gavel for a final time that day. Then noise and chattering and shuffling erupted in the court room.

Mark felt two arms fling themselves around his shoulders from behind, and he whirled around to see Mimi beaming at him. "Congrats, Mark! You put that guy in jail!"

Roger pat him on the back. "Nice," he said simply. Mark took this with a grain of salt—coming from Roger, 'nice' was certainly a compliment.

Angel hugged him and so did Collins and Maureen. "Marky, you won them over with your adorable charm and cute little white head!" Maureen squealed.

"Uh...I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment, Maureen..."

Joanne rolled her eyes. "I'd take it as a compliment if I knew what was good for me, Mark."

Mark laughed whole-heartedly for the first time in months. It seemed that things would be okay now. Fletcher was gone. And, thanks to Mark, he probably wouldn't be back any time soon.

"He'll get at least twenty to twenty-five years in jail...without possibility of parole," Joanne said proudly, "Because you stood up for Aaron Stephens, Mark, his murder definitely won't be in vain. You brought him to justice, you know that?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah...Yeah, I know."

"Karma works in mysterious ways, honey," Angel whispered, "and all of the good stuff you did will be given back to you in a different way. I know it."

Angel's words were comforting as Mark left the courtroom with his noisy and crazy friends. All along, he'd kept asking himself, "Why am I the witness?" But now he couldn't help but feel glad that he had been.

* * *

That night everybody thought it would be fair to celebrate at the Life Café. 

"Let's raise our glass to Mark and Joanne's amazing work in the court room." Angel said, beaming at both of them.

Joanne squeezed Mark's shoulder and he smiled.

"I can tell you one thing, I never want to be a witness to any crime again." Mark sighed after the toast was over.

"Oh come on,Marky, you were great." Maureen smiled. "Hey, you know what? We could all catch criminals now!"

Everybody moaned.

"No no I'm serious! Pookie can be our amazing lawyer! Mark can be the awesome witness! Mimi can be an undercover cop! Collins…now he has to be a cop. Uh…" Maureen looked around at everybody else. "And Angel can be our fashion designer to give Mimi some undercover-looks, I can be the person who holds the radio so we can communicate to me. I'll be in charge."

"But Maureen--"

"Haven't you seen Charlie's Angels? There has to be one of those."

Joanne rolled her eyes.

"Hey, what about me?" Roger fake-pouted.

"You can write our theme song."

"Oh joy."

Everybody stared at Maureen for a second and continued to do what they were doing.

Mark smiled. Everything felt right. Everything felt like home.

_**-FIN-**_


End file.
